


Beau de Jour

by almostannette, writingramblr



Series: Kinktober 2018 [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Child Abuse, Collars, Consensual Sex, Credence and Gellert take turns bottoming, Credence in Lingerie, Credence is of age in this fic (he's 21), Credence thinks he's a Squib at first, Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Past Underage, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sex Trafficking, i NEVER thought I'd write that particular trope again tbh, mild bdsm elements if you squint, obscurus sex, obscurus tentacles, sex worker!Credence, very loosely inspired by Belle de Jour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16356758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostannette/pseuds/almostannette, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: “Take off that robe, my boy. Show me what I bought for you,” Mr. Graves said. He punctuated his demand by kissing Credence almost gently, making heat pool in Credence’s belly. It was unusual and more than a little scary - usually, he never liked being with a client. But with Mr. Graves… he might make an exception for Mr. Graves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to the first installment in this collab - this chapter is the main fic, but there'll be an epilogue written by the very talented writingramblr (find her tumblr: [@soz](https://soz.tumblr.com/)) so you've got something to look forward to :)
> 
> This fic is currently unbeta'd, so should you see any typos or issues with my use of grammar and/or punctuation, feel free to point them out to me, please!
> 
> **WARNINGS: mentions of underage, mentions of non-con, dub-con, child abuse, sex trafficking**

 

* * *

**New York City, 1926**

“Get ready, boy,” Gnarlak said and grabbed Credence’s arm none too gently, his misshapen fingers clamping down like a vise. “You have a new client waiting for you, a Mr. Percival Graves. He asked for the best we have to offer, so do everything he says, no matter what it is. He’s also filthy rich, so make him come back or else.”

Credence nodded. He hated the men who bought his company, but he had to serve anyone who paid Gnarlak enough money. As a Squib, this was one of the few ways Credence could be useful for the wizarding community. Not that he’d had much choice in the matter. He’d been taken from Mary Lou Barebone’s abusive home when he’d been fourteen, by two people who introduced themselves as Aurors. They were working for the Magical Congress of the United States of America, they’d said.

For a few precious hours, Credence had harbored wild dreams of using magic and being free, until he’d found out that, as a ‘Squib’, he was essentially worthless to the wizarding community, just as he’d been worthless in his adoptive mother’s eyes. Magical ancestry, but no powers. An abomination.

After a few weeks, which Credence spent at a facility designed to house Squib children - ‘prison’ would have been the more accurate term, in Credence’s opinion - when Gnarlak had come by and expressed an interest in Credence.

When Gnarlak had offered him a job, Credence had thought it could hardly be worse than living with Ma. A few days later, with a sweating, grunting Gnarlak on top of him, thrusting into him at a merciless pace, Credence quickly figured out how very wrong he’d been. After Gnarlak finished and rolled off of him, Credence kept laying on his back, naked as he was, paralyzed by fear and pain. He’d only realized what exactly his new job entailed when Gnarlak talked about how Credence shouldn’t take it personally, but he’d had to sample the product, after all. Apparently, Credence showed great potential.

Back in the present, faced with a new client whom he didn’t know yet, anger, frustration and, repulsion rose up inside of him, creating a toxic cocktail of emotions he could barely control. He held his breath for a few seconds before he exhaled slowly and willed himself to accept the situation. There was nothing he could do about it, not with Gnarlak controlling his every move. “He asked for the best we have to offer, so I’ll be the best Mr. Graves has ever had,” Credence said dispassionately. Right. As if Credence had any motivation to work hard at pleasing his clients; he never saw any of the money they paid anyway.

Gnarlak released his arm, only for his hand to shoot up and grab Credence roughly by the chin. “With that attitude, you won’t.” The goblin peered into Credence’s eyes, looking for any signs of disobedience or defiance. Credence wasn’t stupid enough to let his feelings show on his face. Living with Ma had taught him well. “Don’t forget: Without me, you wouldn’t even have a place in the wizarding world,” Gnarlak hissed. “Now, smile, and show Mr. Graves a good time.”

Gnarlak turned around to leave Credence’s dressing room, but not before leering in his direction. Finally, he disappeared, leaving Credence with only a few precious minutes of privacy in the cramped room he’d used to share with another Squib up until a few months ago. His roommate, a pretty redhead called Chastity, had gotten married to one of her regular clients, a short, prissy man called Ewan Abernathy.

The day she’d moved out, Credence had asked her if she was happy with Mr. Abernathy.

Chastity had only shrugged and said that she’d probably never again find a wizard willing to marry her. Married life would have to be better than working for Gnarlak, right? Credence was not so sure. Why would a wizard willingly marry a Squib, someone who was beneath him in every way, who the law didn’t even regard as his equal? Then again, perhaps that was exactly what Mr. Abernathy had been looking for. Credence wished her good luck anyway, knowing fully well this possibility of escaping Gnarlak’s clutches was impossible for him. Even if a client fell for Credence, which happened before, Gnarlak would never permit Credence to leave the brothel - not while he brought in so much money.

Credence quickly got himself ready for his new client - Mr. Graves, if that was even his real name. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine a man with such an illustrious family background would frequent a place like this unless he had peculiar tastes and needed the absolute discretion Gnarlak offered. The highest possible safety measure was obliviating a Squib after a client was done with them. Thankfully, that had only happened to Credence a few times over the seven years he’d worked at the brothel. Too frequent obliviations started to mess with your mind after a while.

Credence took off his shirt and trousers and slipped into a short silk robe instead, which just graced his knees in length. He tied the sash at his waist, brushed his hair and poured himself a shot from the bottle of gigglewater Chastity had given him as a parting gift. He managed to suppress the urge to laugh out loud as the liquor burned down his throat and stood up with a sigh. ‘Do everything he says, no matter what it is,’ Gnarlak had said.

Credence entered ‘his’ room, or rather, the room he’d been assigned to, forcing a seductive smile onto his features while demonstratively swaying his hips. In just a second he cataloged the man sitting on the edge of the bed. He was middle-aged, between forty and forty-five, but closer to forty-five, probably. While his hair was still mostly black, his temples were silver-grey. Mr. Graves, if that was even his real name, was an exceptionally attractive man. Instead of being relieved or perhaps even slightly thrilled at getting to sleep with a customer who was more than easy on the eyes for a change, Credence almost wished Mr. Graves were ugly instead. Why would such a handsome and self-assured man frequent a brothel? Peculiar tastes… illegal tastes, possibly. Tastes, at any rate, which he didn’t dare bring up with his partners, so he went to people like Credence, with whom compliance was ensured and pleasure faked well enough.

Before Credence could say anything to Mr. Graves, his client was already addressing him: “I’ve been told your name is Credence? Come closer, please. Let me get a good look at you, my boy.”

Credence obeyed. While he walked up to Mr. Graves, his hands automatically went to the sash holding his robe together. Just as he was about to untie it, Mr. Graves clicked his tongue.

“No, let me be the one to do that,” he said. “Unwrapping is half the fun of being given a gift, wouldn’t you agree?”

Credence faked a smile. “Whatever you say.”

“My boy, I would like you to address me either as Mr. Graves or Sir, do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Credence said. “What can I do for you today, Sir?”

“I would like you to play coy, maybe even a little clueless initially, but then I succeed in seducing you and you’re overcome with pleasure,” Mr. Graves said matter-of-factly. “Let’s pretend we’ve known each other for a while, a few weeks maybe, and this is the first time that we’re alone together.”

Credence nodded. He could do this. “Sir, when you said ‘clueless’, does this mean you want me to act like it’s my first time?”

Mr. Graves thin lips curled into a smug grin. “Preferably. I’m a jealous lover and I don’t want to think about the other men who get to touch you besides me.”

Credence resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If Mr. Graves had wanted a boy who’d never had sex before, perhaps he shouldn’t have come looking for one in a whorehouse. But playing coy, feigning inexperience, letting Mr. Graves believe he was the one to teach Credence how to give pleasure? That he could do. He’d become quite the actor over the years and he knew he could make any man believe that he enjoyed sleeping with him. (Some of his regular clients had even been so naive as to tell him that they wouldn’t keep on frequenting the whorehouse if they didn’t know that Credence enjoyed their time together.)

With Mr. Graves… well, Credence wasn’t sure how he felt about him, yet. Mr. Graves was probably the most handsome man Credence had ever slept with. If the situation had been different, if they had been equals, Credence might have actually enjoyed sleeping with him. As it was, he focused on acting as though the sensations were new for him. He even allowed Mr. Graves to kiss him, a privilege which he didn’t give away all that easily. Mr. Graves’ lips tasted like expensive whiskey and a hint of bitter tobacco. As he let Mr. Graves slip his tongue into Credence’s mouth, still acting as though he’d never been French-kissed before, he wondered what he must taste like. Cheap gigglewater, probably.

Mr. Graves finished inside of him, but at least had the courtesy to cast a cleaning spell after he pulled out. For some reason, the illusion of Credence’s pleasure still seemed to be important to him and so he let Mr. Graves give him a handjob. Usually, he avoided orgasming when he was with a client, much less letting a client get him off. It was much too intimate. If anything, he’d take care of himself, but since Gnarlak had made it very clear that Credence had even less of a choice than usual when it came to Mr. Graves, he didn’t dare say no to any of the man’s demands.

As he watched Mr. Graves put his clothes back on, layer for layer, covering up an admittedly well-sculpted body for a man his age, Credence got the peculiar feeling that things would never be the same again.

Mr. Graves left Credence, after giving him a last kiss. “Good boy,” he mumbled, just before exiting the room.

He was back the following week.

* * *

Over the next few months, Mr. Graves joined the ranks of Credence’s regulars. He started buying more and more of Credence’s time, which caused Gnarlak to bestow some rare praise upon Credence for managing to make such a high-paying client come back multiple times a week. Naturally, Credence accepted the praise, although he didn’t know what Mr. Graves saw in him. He didn’t act any differently with Mr. Graves than with his other clients. Or did he? In any case, Mr. Graves was one of the few clients Credence didn’t mind sleeping with, and now that he’d gotten to know him a little, Credence even tentatively looked forward to their encounters.

He started referring to it as “the boyfriend experience” in his head. Being with Mr. Graves felt like one single roleplay, extended over multiple dates over a long period of time. Sometimes, it was nice to lose himself in their scenes... He could pretend he was really a young wizard - he would have graduated from Ilvermorny a few years ago, maybe gotten an entry-level job at MACUSA and somehow he’d managed to catch the eye of Percival Graves, a member of the Twelve by birth and Director of Magical Security by trade.

Mr. Graves had obligations towards his family, stipulating that he marry a nice witch from a respectable family and carry on the nameline, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t afford to have a lover on the side. And Credence fit that role perfectly. He’d make sure Mr. Graves never wanted to go back to his wife after he’d spent an evening in Credence’s bed.

For some of their dates, Mr. Graves smuggled exotic fruit or sweets up to Credence’s room in the brothel, or even exquisite wine and champagne. It was their little secret, and technically against the rules - Gnarlak didn’t want his whores to eat much; he didn’t want them gaining any weight. Very slim, boyish figures were popular both in the wizarding and the non-wizarding world. So, Credence might have felt a little sinful, but he enjoyed letting Mr. Graves feed him orange slices or chocolate candies, only to wash down the taste with sparkling wine. If Mr. Graves chose to spoil a whore that way, a whore who didn’t matter to him, then Credence almost didn’t want to imagine what Mr. Graves would be like if Credence were his lover.

* * *

“Take off that robe, my boy. Show me what I bought for you,” Mr. Graves said. He punctuated his demand by kissing Credence almost gently, making heat pool in Credence’s belly. It was unusual and more than a little scary - he never felt that way with any of his other clients, only when he touched himself and succeeded in making himself believe that he was free to choose his lovers and love them or leave them as he pleased. He  _ never  _ liked being with a client. But with Mr. Graves… he might make an exception for Mr. Graves.

“Yes, Sir.” Credence slowly took off his robe so Mr. Graves could admire the fit of the corset he’d bought for him. An owl had delivered the lingerie earlier that day, accompanied by a note from Mr. Graves, saying that he hoped Credence would like the garment.

“Aren’t you an exquisite-looking thing?” Mr. Graves murmured, admiring Credence while he posed for him, showing off how the corset shaped his body, creating curves where nature had not intended there to be any. Mr. Graves palmed his erection through his trousers and Credence was secretly pleased with himself for managing to get his client all worked up without even having to touch him.

Mr. Graves’s hand shot forward. He grabbed a fistful of Credence’s hair and pulled his head back until he felt vulnerable like he was offering his throat to Mr. Graves. “Didn’t you forget something, my boy? How about a little thank you for my generosity?”

Blinking away the tears in his eyes, Credence said: “Thank you, Sir.”

Mr. Graves didn’t let go of his hair, if anything, he pulled even harder and used his other hand to twist one of Credence’s nipples.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Graves,” Credence gasped, trying not to think about his rapidly hardening cock.

His client, however, had other ideas. “Do you like that? Because I think you do. I think you like it very much,” Mr. Graves whispered into Credence’s ear before biting down on Credence’s pulse-point just below his jaw. “Are you going to show me just how much you like it?”

Credence could take a hint, spread his legs and started touching himself. Mr. Graves watched him intently, and Credence started talking to him, told him what he knew his client wanted to hear. It was just a simple variation of the usual spiel - how much Credence had missed Mr. Graves and how badly he needed to be fucked.

When Mr. Graves finally took off his clothes and cast the necessary spells for lubrication and preparation, Credence was relieved. He usually never liked it when a client wanted to have extensive foreplay - the sooner they screwed, the sooner the client came, the sooner it would be over… 

At least that’s what Credence tried to tell himself. If there was a small part of him that looked forward to having Mr. Graves inside him, that genuinely welcomed the sensations of being with this man, perhaps… perhaps Credence was such a good actor that he hadn’t only managed to trick Mr. Graves into thinking he enjoyed sleeping with him, but also somehow managed to trick himself.

Because this time? This time he’d liked sleeping with Mr. Graves, no pretense and no doubt about it.

“So beautiful,” Mr. Graves mumbled afterward, while they were both still basking in the afterglow, alternately playing with Credence’s hair or softly running his fingers over Credence’s body. He kept drawing senseless shapes on Credence’s skin, teaching his hands the shape and the contours of Credence’s body, a body which Mr. Graves should have rightfully known by heart by now, considering how often they met. “You’re so beautiful, has anyone ever told you that? I can’t believe such a pretty thing like you doesn’t have any magic. How could anything be so beautiful, but at the same time so useless?”

Credence pretended Mr. Graves’ words didn’t hurt him. They shouldn’t have hurt him, after all - Mr. Graves paid good money for Credence’s body, he ought to have been allowed to say anything he wanted, without having to be considerate of something so ridiculous as Credence’s  _ feelings.  _

He hid his disappointment behind a seductive smile. “You should have realized it by now,” he whispered. “I’m not useless, Sir.”

Mr. Graves mirrored his smile. “No, I suppose you’re not. Far from it, in fact.” He traced Credence’s plush bottom lip with his thumb. Mr. Graves’ hands were smooth, like an office worker’s; the Director of Magical Security hadn’t done any dirty field work in years.

Credence opened his mouth, catching the digit between his teeth, teasingly biting down for just a second, before he gently started sucking on Mr. Graves’ fingertip. He looked up to meet Mr. Graves’ eyes, who was watching him enraptured.

“No,” Mr. Graves rasped and licked his lips. “You’re certainly not useless.”

* * *

One evening, about six months into Credence’s acquaintance with Mr. Graves, Gnarlak told him that tonight was going to be special. Mr. Graves requested Credence for the whole night, which he didn’t want to spend at the brothel, but at his own apartment.

Credence masked his surprise at being required to be present for the negotiations - he didn’t even want to know how many dragots Gnarlak was going to ask for the privilege of taking Credence out of the heavily-monitored environment of the brothel.

Gnarlak led Credence into his office, where Mr. Graves was already sitting in a chair, a cigar in his hand. His arrogant expression softened for a moment when he saw Credence, inclining his head as a form of greeting.

“Good evening, Sir,” Credence mumbled.

Gnarlak sat down opposite Mr. Graves and sorted a few documents on his desk.

Credence looked around the office; there were no other chairs for him to sit down. Credence kept standing a few feet beside Mr. Graves’ chair, awkwardly shuffling his feet, until Mr. Graves flicked his wand and conjured up a comfortable and stylish chair. “Please, Credence, I insist,” he said. “Sit.”

Credence obeyed.

Gnarlak raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t react. “Since you are a regular customer, I’m naturally inclined to comply with your wishes. However, you will understand that I value safety above all. There are necessary precautions we need to take before I can allow you to apparate home with him.”

“Of course,” Mr. Graves said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And what might these precautions entail?”

“I am going to place a tracking charm on the boy so that I’ll know where he is at all times,” Gnarlak said. “He is not going to feel a single thing, don’t worry,” he added, pointing his wand at Credence and muttered an inaudible spell.

Credence gasped. The spell settled in his head, behind his eyes and remained there like a perpetual, dull headache. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost tune it out.

“So, that was the tracking charm. I’ll take it off when you return here, but only if you behave,” Gnarlak said.

Mr. Graves cleared his throat. “Is that everything?” he asked. “One charm?”

“We’re almost done,” Gnarlak said, took something from a desk drawer and went to Credence’s side.

Without asking, he grabbed his left hand and placed a bracelet on his wrist. As soon as it touched his skin, it started to shrink until it sat snug against his skin. Even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to take it off.

“Goblin-forged steel,” Gnarlak explained. “Impervious to nearly all spells and curses; practically indestructible.” He tapped the bracelet with his wand. “Portus.” The bracelet glowed blue for a moment and grew uncomfortably hot against Credence’s skin. “Now it’s a portkey. It will transport him back tomorrow at 8am, so I suggest you make the most of your time, Mr. Graves.”

Mr. Graves had to sign a few documents, spelling out ‘Percival E. Graves’ in elegant cursive. From the way the documents glowed after he put his signature on them, Credence suspected they were magically binding as well, but he didn’t know enough about magic to be sure. He suspected that asking would not be appreciated either, especially since Mr. Graves seemed to be in a foul mood, from the way he alternately glared at Gnarlak and Credence, or more accurately, the documents Gnarlak was filing away in a folder on his desk and the bracelet on Credence’s wrist.

“Can I take him home now?” he snapped the second Gnarlak had filed the documents away. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

Gnarlak nodded. “Please enjoy your time,” he said. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Sir.”

Mr. Graves turned to Credence - Credence would have expected being grabbed and apparated straight into Mr. Graves’ bedroom, from the impatient scowl on his client’s features. To his surprise, Mr. Graves’ expression softened when he looked at Credence. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Do you have any prior experience with apparition?”

Perplexed, Credence shook his head.

Mr. Graves offered him his arm, instructing him to hold on tight. It would feel more uncomfortable than both traveling by Floo Powder or Portkey, he said, since Credence wasn’t used to the sensation of apparition, but it would be over in less than a second.

Credence grabbed Mr. Graves’ forearm. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Mr. Graves said with a smile, and the next thing Credence knew was that he felt like he was being squeezed through a tiny tube; his head felt like it was going to explode… Before he knew it, the sensation had already subsided. He needed a few moments to catch his breath before he felt ready to open his eyes and examine his surroundings. He was standing in the hallway of what seemed like a large, tastefully decorated apartment. It was a far cry from the gaudy furniture and decorations which dominated at Gnarlak’s brothel. Gnarlak had  _ gotten  _ rich and had acquired the desire to flaunt his wealth in the process. Mr. Graves, on the other hand, had been born rich - his wealth, to him, must have seemed like a God-given right, a privilege he never questioned. Hence, he also had no need to prove it to anyone. His apartment was stylish but understated. Credence liked it.

“Where would you like to have me?” he began, not quite sure how to proceed. Mr. Graves was hanging up his coat, but he didn’t seem to be interested in Credence at the moment. Had he done anything wrong? Should he have approached Mr. Graves or…?

“Follow me,” Mr. Graves said and strode through the apartment. Credence followed him, just as instructed, and tried not to stare at the moving portraits on the wall too much.

One of them, the portrait of a man who looked a lot like Mr. Graves - perhaps his father or grandfather? - raised an eyebrow when Credence passed and mumbled something that sounded a lot like “that awful intruder”. Credence held his head up high, even though his cheeks were burning with shame? What did he care if the portraits on Mr. Graves’ wall didn’t approve of him being there? Mr. Graves wanted him otherwise he wouldn’t have paid Gnarlak a fortune to bring him to his apartment, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Mr. Graves led him to a door at the end of the hallway, which led to his bedroom. Like every other room Credence had gotten glimpses of, this one, too, was elegantly decorated.

“Sit, please,” Mr. Graves said, gesturing to the large bed in the middle of the room.

Credence obeyed. Gingerly, he ran his fingers over the dark silk sheets, while waiting for Mr. Graves’ instructions. If he wanted something akin to their usual scenes, then Credence would start by slowly undressing, touching himself provocatively, maybe using a toy if Mr. Graves requested it. He’d put on a show until Mr. Graves deigned to join him, but those were the rules at the brothel. Here? Unchartered territory.

“Sir, what would you like me to do?”

Mr. Graves sat down next to Credence, taking Credence’s hands into his. “First and foremost, I want you to listen closely to what I have to say and answer all of my questions as truthfully as possible. Can you do that for me, Credence?”

Credence swallowed, fighting the urge to fidget. He had expected a night of being made love to, not an interrogation. “I can do that, Sir.”

“Am I wrong in the assumption that you do not enjoy working for Gnarlak?”

Credence blinked, not sure if he’d understood the question right. “I’m sorry, Sir?”

Mr. Graves repeated the question, punctuating it by gently squeezing Credence’s hands.

“Sir, that’s a rather surprising question,” he hedged, licking his lips. “I’m not sure if you’d appreciate hearing the truth.”

Mr. Graves chuckled, letting go of Credence’s hands. “I’ll take that as a yes. I wouldn’t have expected you to lie and say you liked it, not with the way society treats you. Assuming you enjoy my company more than that of the other wizards Gnarlak picks for you, I’d like to make you an offer. I would like you to become my lover.”

“Mr. Graves, I  _ am  _ your lover,” Credence said. “You visit me at least twice a week, we have sex, what else would you…?”

“We’d have to discuss the details of our arrangement, of course,” Mr. Graves interrupted him, reaching out to brush a lock of hair out of Credence’s face. “But I can assure that it would be decidedly less vulgar than the services you have to provide for Gnarlak. I’ve seen some of the men he has you sleep with. You deserve better than that, my boy. You deserve to be with someone who knows how to appreciate the gift of your beauty.”

Credence’s breathing sped up. It was not the first time a client had made such an offer to him, but the first time he seriously considered agreeing to it. Being with Mr. Graves… becoming his lover… having something akin to a  _ relationship  _ with him… just from the nature of things, he would still be paid for taking Mr. Graves’ into his bed, but he would have more freedom than probably ever before in his life.

Maybe Mr. Graves would set him up in his own apartment, allow him to spend his money as Credence pleased. Going anywhere he wanted in wizarding New York… it sounded too good to be true.

Touching the bracelet turned portkey on his wrist, Credence bit his lip before asking, “Where’s the catch?”

“You’re cautious,” Mr. Graves said. “You don’t trust easily. That’s good, my boy, because there  _ is _ a catch. There’s something you don’t yet know about me.”

“Oh?” Credence breathed.

Mr. Graves smiled, cupping Credence’s cheek with one hand. “I assume you’re familiar with Polyjuice Potion?”

He nodded, a little disappointed that Mr. Graves had already grown tired of Credence’s own body. “You want me to take Polyjuice, Sir? You could have simply asked Gnarlak as well, he would have provided you with a flask of Polyjuice for a fee, it’s one of the services he doesn’t explicitly advertize but…”

“Hush.” Mr. Graves placed a finger on Credence’s lips. “You misunderstood me. I don’t want you to take Polyjuice Potion. I only wanted to make sure that you were familiar with its effects. Credence, can you promise me that you won’t be afraid of what I’m about to tell you?”

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling terribly exposed in the skimpy clothes Gnarlak had made him put on. “Sir, I can’t promise you if I don’t know what you’re about to tell me. I’m actually frightened now.”

“Of course, dear boy. Well, to be quick… I’m the one who’s been taking Polyjuice Potion. I’m not the man you think I am.”

Credence gasped; his head was spinning. “You’re not Mr. Graves?”

“No. In fact, you’ve never met the real Percival Graves.”

“Who are you then?”

The man who was not Mr. Graves pointed his wand at himself, muttered a spell Credence couldn’t make out and instantly, the handsome features Credence had gotten so used to looking at, melted away to reveal the face of a man a little older than Mr. Graves. His features were refined and aristocratic, his dirty-blond hair was streaked with gray. He was a bit taller and thinner than Mr. Graves, his finely-tailored clothes didn’t sit quite right on his frame anymore, and his mismatched eyes were scrutinizing Credence, waiting for his reaction.

Credence recognized the man in an instant. How could he not? His face was on posters all over wizarding New York City, accompanied by the slogan ‘Most Wanted by MACUSA and the ICW’.

If he had been a responsible member of the wizarding community, Credence would have apparated straight into the Woolworth Building and report that the most dangerous wizard in the world had taken up residence in New York City. But since he was neither a wizard capable of apparition nor particularly inclined to do anything against said dangerous wizard, who was currently keeping his wand trained on Credence, MACUSA would likely never know. Not that they seemed to be very competent in the first place since Gellert Grindelwald had successfully impersonated their Director of Magical Security for at least half a year.

Everything Mr. Graves- no, everything  _ Mr. Grindelwald  _ had said fled his brain, he didn’t remember anything… what did Mr. Grindelwald want to do to him? Everyone knew that he despised Squibs just as much as he hated No-Majs. What was his agenda? The wizards ought to rule over the No-Majs for their own good? No, for the greater good, that was it.

Back when Mr. Grindelwald had still been masquerading as Mr. Graves, Credence had believed that he cared about Credence’s well-being, at least to a certain extent. But now? All bets were off. Mr. Grindelwald regarded people like him as little better than vermin. What had he said, so many months ago? Credence was ‘pretty, but useless’.

“Credence?” Mr. Grindelwald asked. His voice was so different from what Credence was used to hearing. He spoke with an accent now, and the shivers that ran down his spine were ones of terror, not of titillation.

He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ he wanted to say, but no words left his mouth. There was a lump in his throat so big, it felt almost painful.

What did Mr. Grindelwald have in store for Credence? He was nothing to him, absolutely nothing. Perhaps he’d just gotten bored of having to pay Gnarlak and booking an appointment in order to get his hands on Credence’s body, so he’d just decided to eliminate the middleman and steal Credence away, for lack of a better word. He’d wanted him to become his lover, Mr. Grindelwald had said. He wanted him to become his slave, Credence translated. Squibs were just as worthless to Gellert Grindelwald as No-Majs, not to be regarded as equals - the only useful role he could assume would be as his servant.

Credence curled up in a ball, wrapped his arms around his shins, and rested his forehead on his knees. No matter what he said, no matter how persuasive he tried to be, Mr. Grindelwald would not let him go back to the brothel.

He could do this, he tried to tell himself. All he had to do was be obedient to Mr. Grindelwald, follow whatever rules the wizard wanted him to observe and hope for the best.

Hope...

He couldn’t breathe, anymore. Why was it always him? Every time Credence dared to hope for a better life, it somehow turned out worse than before. Why? Didn’t he deserve better? Ma, Gnarlak, and now the man he’d thought might be his savior turned out to be his worst tormentor yet.

Mr. Grindelwald gasped. “My boy, you never cease to amaze me,” he said. “To think that what I’ve been looking for has been so near all this time…”

“What?” Credence forced out, not daring to open his eyes. He felt as though he was dissolving from all the stress, like he was finally falling apart for good.

“Please, Credence, look,” Mr. Grindelwald said in a tone of voice that left no room for defiance. “I insist.”

Credence opened his eyes. A large, intricately crafted mirror was floating in the air in front of him. He could see himself, half-curled up on Mr. Graves’ bed - it was a familiar image. A pale young man, long limbs prone to coltishness rather than elegance. His nose was a little too large, his jaw a little too strong and his eyes a little too wide-set to be considered conventionally attractive, Gnarlak had said as much. By itself, neither of his features would be particularly interesting, but Credence had been lucky, and so he still managed to look pleasing to the eyes of most men.

What was new, however, were the tendrils of black smoke which were oozing out of his body, rising up like tentacles. They almost seemed to have a mind of their own, twisting every which way… no, Credence realized. The tendrils pulsated in time with his own, rapid heartbeat.

“What is this?”

“I will explain, my boy, but first of all, I need you to calm down. I've grown rather attached to this bedroom and I would hate to see it destroyed.”

In the blink of an eye, Mr. Grindelwald vanished the mirror and joined Credence on the bed. “Will you let me touch you?”

Confused, Credence nodded. He couldn't remember ever having been asked such a question before. Mr. Grindelwald had certainly never asked Credence's permission before he laid his hands on him.

Now, though… Credence watched one black tendril reach out, almost of its own accord and wrap itself around the goblin-forged bracelet Gnarlak had forced on him. Mr. Grindelwald was watching the movement with an expression bordering somewhere between lust, want and greed.

Gently, Mr. Grindelwald cupped Credence's cheek. “Hush,” he said. “I know that this must be overwhelming for you.” He pulled Credence into his arms - used to Mr. Graves being shorter than he was, the sensation was new. Mr. Grindelwald was taller than Credence and he felt like he had to rearrange his limbs to make himself fit against this new body.

The scent, however, was the same and if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend...

He took a few deep breaths, clinging close to his client turned public enemy and willed himself to relax, even in the face of possible danger and highly probable pain. He was used to it; he’d had twenty-one years of practice.

Mr. Grindelwald kissed Credence’s temple. “Credence, do you know anything about Obscurials?”

“About what?”

“They were more common in earlier days. Muggles were afraid of witchcraft, you see, because they did not understand it. They thought magic was evil, that wizards and witches were out to hurt them. Children gifted with magic who grew up in that climate were, naturally, inclined to hide their powers.” Mr. Grindelwald ran his fingers through Credence’s hair. “That all sounds familiar to you, doesn’t it?”

Credence’s lips twitch into a sad smile, and he snuggled closer to Mr. Grindelwald. What Mr. Grindelwald had just told him was an accurate description of his Credence’s childhood in the house of his adoptive mother. Magic, so she’d taught all her children, was the devil’s work. It was wicked, and Mary Lou Barebone eradicated wickedness with righteous fury and harsh punishments.

At the time, Credence had tried to comply with his adoptive mother’s wishes as best as he could, which was not all that good to begin with. If Gnarlak hadn’t made Credence see a Healer before he started working at the brothel, Mr. Grindelwald would still be able to see the scars Ma’s punishments had left on his palms, his back, and his buttocks. “It could have a certain appeal,” Gnarlak had commented when he’d first seen Credence’s scars in all their awful glory. “But your face is too pretty and we don’t want any client to get false expectations, only to be disgusted when they see you naked, now, do we?”

The Healer could take away the physical evidence of Credence’s wickedness, of his past transgressions, but not the scars his mother’s abuse had left on his soul. Mary Lou Barebone’s accusations had wormed their way into Credence’s heart and he’d been too afraid to acknowledge the stirrings of power he’d felt within him ever since.

“I suppose I can understand why young witches or wizards would suppress their powers, whether intentionally or unintentionally. But it can be fatal to do so. Magic must not be suppressed, powers ought not to be kept hidden. If magic is denied an outlet, it festers. It develops into an Obscurus - those black tendrils you saw, they were part of the Obscurus. As the host, you’re what we would refer to as an Obscurial. I can’t begin to describe what I felt when I saw you like that… an adult Obscurial. There are no records of others, you know? Your powers must be extraordinary.”

It should have sounded like praise, Credence knew, but there was something in Mr. Grindelwald's choice of words that made him shiver. “‘It festers’ you said. I'm not special, am I? It's not a gift, it's an illness.” He disentangled himself from Mr. Grindelwald's hold. “And the fact that I'm the only adult Obscurial you've ever heard of only means that they generally don't live very long. I wasn't given a special gift, Sir, I have an illness which is going to kill me sooner or later, no? You don't need to sugarcoat it for my benefit. I'm strong enough to stomach the truth.”

Mr. Grindelwald shook his head. “Just because there are no records, doesn't mean there were no other Obscurials to survive into adulthood. I believe that, when given a supportive environment and an outlet for your magic, the Obscurus is going to be a blessing rather than a course, indeed. Think about it - if you have to hide an essential part of who you are for each and every day of your life? That can't be healthy, can it? As a wizard, you can't negate the power which runs through your very veins, just as a Muggle will never be able to cast even a simple spell, no matter how diligently he or she might study magical theory. Your powers are a gift, a gift which deserves to be used, not hidden away. That's what I'm fighting for - no more separation, no more hiding our true nature from the Muggles. It encourages fear on both sides, can't you see it? We need to return to a natural order. The witches and wizards need to use their powers for the benefit of all. It's for the greater good. With the system as it is - and I have to say that it is even more perverted over here than in Europe - mistakes happen. By all means, my boy, you should have gotten a magical education instead of being made into a toy for wealthy gentlemen.”

Credence blinked. “Don’t act as though you didn’t benefit from the mistake the system made in my case,” he whispered. “You want to use me. You’ve wanted to use me before, too, but now that you know that I have magical powers, that I’m an Obscurial, you still want to use me, only in a different way.”

Mr. Grindelwald didn’t reply for a long time. He didn’t have to - Credence knew that he was right. He’d been in the business long enough to detect desire in any man’s gaze, and Mr. Grindelwald’s eyes had shone with naked want while he was looking at the Obscurus.

“Is it so difficult to believe that I have developed a fondness for you?” Mr. Grindelwald said finally.

“Frankly? Yes,” Credence answered with a shrug, before contemplating the bracelet on his wrist once more. He held out his hand to Mr. Grindelwald. “I suppose your initial offer still stands, though? I could become your lover exclusively? You would make sure that I’m taken care of?”

Mr. Grindelwald took Credence’s hand and ran his fingers over the bracelet. “Yes, my initial offer still stands. However, I would also like to teach you magic if you permit it. And if you have no qualms about leaving New York City…”

“Do you want to show me the world?” Credence interrupted him. “How romantic of you.”

Mr. Grindelwald laughed, squeezing Credence’s hand. “Well, it would hardly be a honeymoon. I lead a dangerous life… I’m a wanted man, as you surely know. You would never lack variety in your life, that I can guarantee.”

Credence bit his lip. He knew he didn’t want to go back to the brothel, now that he knew he had magical powers and could possibly still learn to use them? Imagining even one more client treating him like a second-class citizen, like a vulgar aberration of nature, only to be used for satisfying some of the baser instincts of wealthy wizards… 

Mr. Grindelwald was right, Credence realized. The system was broken - Rappaport’s Law had been in place for over a century. Wizard and witches had become the stuff of legends, and only maniacs like his adoptive mother still believed they truly existed. And what could his adoptive mother do, really? What could she do against even the weakest of wizards? A flick of a wand and she would be at the mercy of whoever wielded said wand… her God wouldn’t help her, just like God had never helped Credence, no matter how hard he’d tried to be good, how desperately he’d prayed for salvation. He might have taken Credence from Ma’s clutches, but Gnarlak had been no better.

Credence looked into Mr. Grindelwald’s mismatched eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat. Maybe it was time to make a deal with the Devil.

“Alright,” he whispered. “If you can take off the bracelet and the tracking charm, then I’ll go with you.”

* * *

When Gnarlak stepped into his office the next day, he was greeted by destruction. Furniture was overturned, documents strewn all over the floor and the curtains were torn to shreds as if ripped apart by a creature with enormous claws.

It looked like someone had let a feral beast loose in the room.

After he’d assessed the damage, he ascertained that nothing of value had been stolen, but each and every document containing Credence Barebone’s name was missing, as though someone had tried to erase the boy’s very existence.

When the post arrived later that day, an eagle owl was carrying a package with no sender and no note attached.

The package contained a broken bracelet made of goblin-forged steel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, as promised, here is the epilogue. As I already mentioned in the previous chapter's notes, this epilogue was not written by me, but by the extremely talented writingramblr. This chapter was originally written for day 17 of kinktober but now has a proper home :)

**Paris, 1927**

Credence is used to men being lewd and asking him to touch himself or them, but something about this gentleman, dark and dangerous, is different in a good way.

Gellert asks him to masturbate while he watches, and it’s nice. Almost a comfort.

Not that Credence doesn’t feel safe around him, as he can easily defend himself, but this man looks like someone who could easily _take_ as much as demand. The thought thrills him. But of course, he’s not perfect, even if he is powerful.

Either “He” or just “Gellert”, has a snaggletooth, has greys overpowering the brown of his hair. He’s soft around the middle in places.

However, his arms, his legs, and his back are all strong, well muscled and covered sparsely with hair.

Credence appreciates it greatly when he rubs his cheek like a cat over the man's skin.

Gellert's chest is carpeted richly with silvery hair, and Credence only has to tease the man's nipples with his tongue or the tips of his fingers to pull a strangled groan from his throat.

"Credence, my darling, you wish to drive me to madness before you fuck me, is that it?"

He smiles, hopefully presenting an air of mystery to the man. "Maybe."

One of his hands curls around Gellert's delicious cock, thick and curved slightly to the left, weeping from the pink head, growing redder with every passing moment. He knows because he’s had it in his mouth many a time.

"If you're going to keep this up, I'll need your help to hold back."   
Credence swallows thickly, and puts his free hand to the base, fingers wrapping around it to do as the man has requested. Gellert won’t get to come until he’s inside Credence, and that isn’t going to be for a while.

Credence doesn’t even have to ask before conjuring up a brown leather collar, flanked by short metal chains, enchanted to keep the man on the very edge of pleasure, freeing both his hands to do as he pleases. Gellert leans his head forward and allows Credence to fasten it around his neck, hissing out a breath, and looking up at him with pure desire in his eyes.

“Going to show me some tricks with your powers, my dear boy?”

Credence smiles, and lifts his hand off Gellert’s cock, letting it transform into a smokey tendril, before pushing it over the man’s mouth, muffling any further sounds, at least for the moment. “Yes.” He ducks his head low, and takes that gorgeous cock into his mouth, sucking and swallowing around the throbbing hot length of it, tasting the steady leaking fluid, swiping his tongue firmly against the underside, confident in his skill, aware he must be driving Gellert insane with bliss.

The man thrashes under Credence’s hold, the collar doing its work, keeping his orgasm at bay, no matter what he does.

His hips thrust up, again and again, trying to fuck into Credence’s throat and find his climax, but to no avail.

Credence rocks his own groin into the sheets, desperate for some friction, before giving in and reaching down to palm himself, hand flush to his own cock, grinding against the heel of it, gasping over Gellert. He pulls away, and rests his cheek on the man’s quivering stomach, eyeing the flush on his chest, bleeding all the way up to his neck.

Upon letting go of Gellert’s mouth, he hears a broken groan.

“If you’re gonna fuck me, hurry up before I break out of these chains.”

Credence shakes his head and urges Gellert over onto his stomach with both hands. “Promises promises.”

He doesn’t hold back any longer, putting both hands firmly on the sides of Gellert’s waist, pushing hard until he’s properly kneeling on all fours, the collar gleaming in the firelight, so that Credence can stare down at his cleft, the winking hole between two plush cheeks. Another smokey tendril emerges from his stomach, and thrusts forward to press in, and begins opening him up. Credence leans over Gellert’s back, and nips a biting kiss over his shoulder, then across to the opposite side, marking him properly. “Hold on tight.”

Barely a moment later, Credence has shed his gifted lingerie, and is lining his aching cock up with that pink furl, driving into the man without a word, feeling the tight hot clench of muscle yield to him, slickened by the obscurus, and a hint of a spell he knows Gellert must have cast automatically upon being manhandled onto his front.

He pushes back against Credence, silently demanding he speed up while grunting into the pillow wedged beneath his folded hands, as the obscurus lovingly pets down his sides, up to caress his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

Credence begins moving in a steady rhythm, a bit ragged as he’s on the verge, thanks to Gellert’s demand that he touch himself before even removing his clothing. It’s not their usual routine, but then again, nothing is ever predictable with the dark wizard, and Credence finds that he prefers it that way.

While the obscurus reaches under Gellert’s chest, tweaking his nipples, Credence speeds up, the heating coil in his gut beginning to grow and spread through his limbs, warning of his impending orgasm. Credence uses his physical hand to take a fistful of Gellert’s hair, yanking him up and back, pulling him flush to his chest, biting his ear before whispering,

“Do you want me to come inside you or on you?” Credence asks.

Gellert moans loudly, and when he speaks, his voice breaks. “I don’t really care, just get on with it.”

Credence lets out a breathless laugh, and then snaps his hips forward, letting his eyes fall shut, feeling the tingling at the base of his spine before pleasure washes through him, and his cock spills and spurts, buried inside Gellert, filling him to the brink. The obscurus curls and hums around them both, slipping one slender tendril behind Credence, rubbing over his ass, then plunging in, seeking out his prostate to make his orgasm linger and stretch on.

It’s almost endless, and painful, this feeling, coming and coming again until Credence’s vision goes dark, and he collapses over Gellert, driving the man forward into the bed, where they crash in a tangle of limbs.

He feels weak, entirely spent, and as Gellert gently shoves him off, over to the side, Credence’s softening cock slips out of him, so that as the man straightens up and looms over him, the glisten of white spend is visible between his thighs.

“Now it’s my turn, kitten.”

Credence lets out a whine, the extent of his vocabulary at that moment, and he forces his eyes open to watch Gellert reaching up, forcibly yanking off his collar, before tossing it aside with clear relish.

Something dangerous sparks in his eyes, and Credence looks to the man’s cock. It’s painfully hard, reddish purple, and wet with copious precum. “I hope you’re ready because I don’t have time to waste, darling.” Gellert smirks and pounces. Credence feels him grinding against the cleft of his thighs, before strong hands heft his legs up, urging them to wrap around Gellert’s broad waist, while his cock is rubbing against Credence’s hole, then pushing in, without warning. He’s babbling mindless things, needy and vibrating with desire, as the obscurus purrs, pleased at how possessive and rough Gellert is being. Credence feels the sharpness of Gellert’s teeth first on his neck, then his lips.

A kiss filled with firm nibbles and flicks of a tongue follow, while the ache inside him is sated, over and over, by Gellert’s cock thrusting into him, sudden jolts of hips against his ass that steal his breath away. It doesn’t last long, and how could it? He’s kept the man on the edge for so long, the speed at which he fucks into Credence betrays his impatience.

Gellert’s hands are painful enough to leave bruises on Credence’s waist, then they go lax, sliding backwards and down to grab his ass, as all goes still, the eye of the storm reached. Gellert’s loud moan is hidden, as his face drops, his mouth suckling hard on the spot between neck Credence’s and shoulder. Credence’s eyes snap open as he feels the warmth of the man’s release bloom inside him, and his legs are finally allowed to drop onto the bed.

His entire body goes limp, and Gellert’s body suffocates him for a long moment until he withdraws.

But Gellert doesn’t go very far, kissing and biting his way from Credence’s chest, on down to his stomach. His soft cock is still resting over his skin, twitching slightly from the stimulation of his prostate, but it’s nowhere near enough to make him come again. Not yet. Gellert kneels between Credence’s legs, and urges them up, all the way until they’re framing his head. He could crush him, if he had the desire.

“Don’t even think about magic. I’m going to clean you up by hand. Or should I say, by mouth?”

Credence cries out at the first swipe of a tongue across his hole, slowly oozing Gellert’s come, and when hands spread him open wider, and Gellert licks _deeply_ into him, his back arches. His hands scrabble for a hold, but Gellert’s using magic, or influencing his obscurus to keep him pinned - a sweet bit of revenge from how Credence tortured him. It’s delightful and wonderous.

Credence comes with Gellert’s fingers crooked inside him, wet with his own semen, thrusting in and up, until it’s nearly painful, and his legs feel numb. “Good boy.” Gellert murmurs, pulling back to wipe his obscenely pink and shiny mouth on the back of his hand. “Come now, let’s take a bath, then get you to bed.”

Credence doesn’t protest or even say anything but a mumble of _‘yes please,’_ as Gellert scoops him up into his arms, easy as a mother cat with her kitten. Only later, when the man tucks him back in the sheets, freshly charmed dry and warm, Credence finds the strength to look over at Gellert and smile, edging close to be tucked into the man’s chest, resting his cheek over that steady heartbeat.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks, voice quiet, soft.

Gellert hums, the sound vibrating through him, making Credence’s toes curl. “Yes, very much. Your power is magnificent, beautiful to bear witness to.”

He feels a kiss pressing to his temples before his eyes flutter closed, and he drifts off for the night, safe, content in Gellert’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the chapter (or the fic in general) please let us know by commenting and/or leaving kudos or say hello on tumblr: [@soz](https://soz.tumblr.com/) and [@almost-annette](https://almost-annette.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments give me life - if you'd like to share your opinion, please feel free to do so! You can also find me on tumblr [@almost-annette](https://almost-annette.tumblr.com/)


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